


Three Times One Equals One

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [9]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, F/M, Fluff, Mild Exhibition, Nerds in Love, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, lots of smut...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12003615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anon #1 asked: Could you if you are still writing them, write another LowRes/Wrench fanfic where Wrench uses the handcuffs on LowRes this time please ^^?Anon #2 asked: can you write a fanfic where lowres and wrench get into a fight and he try to win her back, can you make the ending where wrench and lowres have anal sex.A/N: Well, I hope there are elements in this one that can satisfy both Anons. We'll see. There's lots of anal in this, so if that's not your thing ya know... run for the hills?For warnings see tags (seriously, read them <3).





	Three Times One Equals One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



The first time Wrench tries to stick a finger up your ass, he does. Doesn't try. No, he actually does… of course he does, and of course, you're furious. The other ‘of course’ is that you liked it and Wrench knew it because when has Wrench ever goaded you into something you haven't ended up liking?

It was in Wrench’s Garage, on a pile of cardboard stencils Sitara left sticky with day old spray paint, hands still stuck in handcuffs from your run from the cops, that you both end up naked from the waist down and fucking like two horny teens. 

The smell of sweat and grease fills your nose, mixing with the sensory overload that is Wrench’s fast paced thrusts smacking up from the ground; slamming into you. His cock impales deep within, making the evening up until now worth the trouble. The soft, almost damp folds of Wrench’s hoodie are warm and a bit smelly too, but you like the way he stinks most times, especially now while he’s panting hard behind the spiked leather, fucking like a hyperactive crack fox or something hilariously similar. 

He swallows against your nose, fucking you from below - so damn hard, that everything else feels dull in comparison. His thumb hooks around the chain branching your cuffs together and stretches you out, fingers twitching over his head. Wrench jerks your restraints as his hips churn. He tells you how hard he is and how tight you feel and what he wouldn't give to play cops and robbers with you one on one without having to pull you up over privacy fences across the burbs. 

Tonight, he reeks of oiled machine parts, sour adrenaline and the sap from those bushes he fell in a quarter mile from the garage. 

You inhale greedily, gasping his name like a breathy mantra with each slick hilt of cock. 

One of his hands slides smoothly up your back, dragging your shirt upwards before grabbing the meat under your shoulder. He emits a robotic whine that makes your stomach do back flips. There hadn’t been enough time between catching your breaths and writhing around on the floor, so tonight you get to watch the display of emotes that flash across Wrench’s mask. 

Wrench wanted you on top tonight - made a point to spread your thighs around his hips with those mad-slashes that made you hotter than a solar dish in summer - but the run from the cops has exhausted you so much that after three minutes in you were all but useless. Now you're lying flat on his chest; tits aching against the firmness below as his greedy hands massage up and down your spine, taking both ass cheeks in his palms before running the blunt edge of his nails all the way back up again. Over his head, elbows hanging off his shoulder, your cuffs clink and shift with each thrust. The calluses and broken skin on his fingers leave raised welts - you know they do… can feel them and it brings goosebumps to your limbs.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your inner thighs burn and knees gather sticky paint off the cardboard cut outs; mixing with sweat.

“Shit. Fuck! fuuh’oooh… oh fuck, please tell me you’re almost there?” Wrench grunts and rams his hips up and down, relentless; rhythm only now starting to get a bit choppy. 

Usually, he lasted longer than this, but he wasn’t the only one kicking up dust from the cops tonight. Just thinking back to it was making your legs weaker. Those officers must have been track runners in their off hours or something because… holy fuck, in the morning you're gonna be sore in other places than where Wrench is currently going to town. Nothing like the threat of jail time and or police brutality to get the blood pumping.

Though it feels good and the scratch of hair just above his cock tickles your clit, you're not close enough to finish before he pops off. The way his hips stutter on the halfway point from the ground to your cunt is pretty telling. It doesn't matter though, you think. 

Wrench can't be a sex god all the time, and he hadn't gotten you both in trouble with the police this time. You did - picking up the torch it would seem - so… let him cum without worrying about you for once. You’ll take care of yourself if you need to. Wrench deserves to just let go without being such a gentleman all the time - most of the time, you remind yourself, grinning. Well… sometimes the gentleman. When it counts of course. 

“Ssss’sassafras!” He ‘curses,’ making you giggle-moan against the sweaty, pounding line of his neck, chin cushioned softly in the stinky hoodie folds.

For a second, you think about maybe faking it, but you’ll just mess that up and give the amazing Wrench a complex he doesn't need. With a husky moan, you open your lips against the anarchist ‘A’ over his throat and tell him with a grin, “... come on Wrench… cum for me?”

The callus-hardened tips of his fingers clench, spearing your ass and shoulder with sweaty bruises that feel just as good as the pressure he’s trying to ignite inside. Always a sucker for dirty talk, you think, grin, and nip your teeth along the band of muscle where his heart races. If you wanted to be a real monster, you’d tell him about the wet dream you’d had the night before - one sweaty fantasy where you’d let him fuck you in the ass and woke up horny enough to hump the couch cushions. 

Wrench grunts, “Take that white hat off… will ya? - fuck, fuuuu...” he sighs, hips jerking hard and fast - his hand working your hips back and forth, “... actually, scratch that - you’re my busty lil’ criminal now…” he pants, “but uh…” another heavy moan, “please, don't let me time warp without you this time.”

It's hard to say no to that nerd talk of his - bam, boom… straight to the heart! Wrench sure knew how to blend the frantic breath of porn talk with geek jargon and a dash of boyish charm that was your kryptonite.

“Okay,” you concede, clenching your inner muscles down until a thicker beat of pleasure pulses below your navel. The quiet electric huff Wrench makes at the contraction around his dick is adorable, makes you do it again just to feel his throat bob, and his rocking motions stutter.

You wiggle on top of him, cramming your chained hands between your slick stomachs, feeling the metal cut between you both. You reach a finger down to your clit; swirling just above the bare nerve. With the thin coating of sweat between his hand and your ass, it's not all that shocking when his fingers slip over the bulge of one cheek, coming dangerously close to the crevice of your backside. It doesn’t even cross your mind to be worried about things slipping where they shouldn’t or even concern yourself with the inner working of Wrench’s mind. A big mistake on your part. 

If anything you think he’s appreciative, not at all plotting because you’re gonna give him this since he asked so ‘nicely’ and… maybe your concentration is all too consumed by the orgasm on the horizon to worry about Wrench sticking a finger up your ass. 

He wouldn't do that to you anyway, you think. You've made it explicitly clear that hole is off limits. The motions of your lower halves let his palm skid a little further; fingers delving a little deeper and closer. Too close, but Wrench would never- 

“Haaa,” you gasp as his middle finger slips, bumping between your cheeks just above the puckered ring of flesh you deemed out of bounds. An accident, you think, feeling your face get sweaty and hot and redder than it already very much was, to begin with. 

It’s okay. 

You don’t bring it up because it feels weird to even acknowledge it. Spur of the moment sorta thing… and he probably doesn’t even notice... 

Things happen, you know that, but his fingers don't move away, just stay latched into the bulk of your ass - so close. Desperately, you grind down on your clit and bury your face deep in the slack hoodie encompassing his neck.

Don’t think about it, you tell yourself, trying to focus on the pulse point that Wrench Jr. Jr. is beating. Your cheeks light up like two fat apples when Wrench starts to chuckle - voice laced with sex - and… oh! 

Fuck… you clench and jerk, but you pull in the wrong direction - not away but closer. His finger doesn’t slide in, but the pressure is enough to get you up with a crazy burst of energy, fueled by mild terror and panic; cuffs peeling off the sweaty skin of his stomach.

“Wrench,” you gasp, tugging your hands away from your clit to brace your palms on his chest, arching your back with a desperate whine as he circles the ring of flesh with clear intent. 

Wrench grunts, working harder to fuck his cock up and down; mask a steady glare of mad-slashes. He hums, blink-shifting to happy double carets and you think about leaving him there on the floor - you think about calling Marcus to come and unlock your cuffs before Wrench does something stupid but his throat bobs, and you melt. 

So much for not being a lovesick fool, you think miserably. 

Bright stars cover up the quick blink of mad-slashes and it makes him look so hot and creepy that it catches you off guard, giving him all the time in the world to bend his finger against your ass. With a whimper, you shake your head but shift back in reflex. That questing digit teases for a short second before going flush, and with a tight breath, he pushes inside your ass to the first knuckle. Even lubricated with sweat, the intrusion burns and… and… yes, it feels good after the initial stretch - good enough that you let yourself bounce in his lap until his middle finger disappears within and your eyes are watering.

“Fucking asshole,” you whimper, trying to sound angry, but somehow having his finger up your ass has tickled your throat to the point that you’re a bit breathless.

Wrench chuckles, sounding like he’s got a cartoon weight on his chest.

“That’s the end goal, right? Fuck…are you running a fev-” he whines when you curl your nails into his tattooed name and utters a weak ‘that’s so hot’ when you struggle with the short slack on the handcuffs, reaching awkwardly back down to rub your clit until the aching pulse around Wrench’s finger diminishes. 

At this point, you’re gonna cum even if it kills him. You deserve it after this little incident, which - once you’re past the finish line - Wrench will come to regret.

His display flickers double zeros, staring down between your legs and back up at your annoyed expression. 

The leather and spikes shift around his jaw, exposing hidden tension, before he asks, “... does it hurt?” He sounds uncharacteristically nervous as well as undeniably excited if the sudden strength he puts into his hip thrusts is any indication. 

Why can’t you stay mad at him?!

You grumble, holding onto the fast fading anger, hating that he might have been right but more upset that he'd ignored your boundaries and literally stuck a fucking finger up your ass! 

“I'll take that as a… no, then…” he groans; shifting to uneven nine’s when your insides flutter as the sensations start to pile up.

Yeah, it burns, but there's no way you’ll admit to that because if you open your mouth… he might realize how much you don't mind it. Every roll of your hips and jerk of his makes Wrench’s middle finger jostle, but just barely. You’re so tense right now that if the digit got dislocated during this, you wouldn’t be surprised.

It would serve him right too. 

Wrench swallows. He sounds so close, and you make an awful, terrible sound in your throat as he hooks his middle finger in deep, curves it, squeezes your ass with the rest of those long fingers and angles you in a way that makes liquid heat overflow in your stomach. The punked up, masked asshole stares at you with double carets, knowing you like it and knowing you're near your limit. It always surprised you how many different emotions he could convey with limited emoticons… 

Wrench’s display goes dark, leaving nothing but the electric trill of his breathing as you roll your hips back over his pistoning cock and substantial finger and... cum so hard the garage goes black for a few seconds.

Wet heat floods within as Wrench lets himself go. It adds a subtle edge of comfort to an already fuck-awesome feeling. The giddy peak of an orgasm, reached nearly in the same breadth, leaves you both writhing together in a mess of sweat, cum, and awful moans until you come down and realization catches back up with your fucked-dumb brain. 

The finger still stuffed inside you twitches. 

“That was… amazing!” Wrench gushes, stretched out underneath you, still quivering from his climax; muscles jumping as his mask gives you hearts and a tilde-caret wink.

“I hope you liked living,” you tell him, sounding less composed than you’d prefer, “because you're so fucking finished.” 

Blissfully, you glare under a curtain of warm endorphins, frowning deeply despite the fumes still kicking your brain into lovey-dovey mode. Cradle the anger, you chant. Nurture it, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t work. He’s impossible to stay mad at, especially when he’s whispering dazed apologies with bright at-symbols on display.

Slowly - carefully - Wrench shucks his finger out of you, daring to circle the puckered flesh with the moist pad of his finger until you jerk away. Not closer! - but away this time.

A curse comes out of your mouth as his cock flops out, drained and soft, and without a second thought you lift off him, cuffs clicking, and get up on wobbly legs to get your clothes. You leave him half-naked on the floor with LED question marks as dribbles of cum pool around his spent cock. 

“You’re not actually-actually angry are you?” Wrench asks, folding his wrists behind his head, a bit too smug looking to actually be worried. He props a leg up, unabashed. 

“Yup,” you tell him while struggling to wipe away globs of white cum from your inner thighs. Getting your jeans back on is… difficult and awkward. When you finally zip them up and slide the button through, Wrench whistles. 

You make sure to keep your face hidden under the sweaty tangles of your hair because a smile is already trying to work its way on your lips as he starts tapping his toes in the metal shavings scattering the floor beyond the bed of cardboard. Even out the corner of your eye, you can see the double carets smiling happily at you. Why wouldn’t he be? The douche-nozzle won.

With teeth sunk in your tongue, you cast him a quick look and deflate. Well, fuck. How can you stay angry at that? 

“Stop looking so cute,” you grumble under your breath, ignoring his question marks. 

Dressed, looking less like you just got uber fucked and loved it, you toe his naked hip until he knocks his knee up on your shin and blinks twin hearts. When he does that he looks like a Mad Max villain in love. 

“Say cheese,” you tell him dully, raising your phone from your pocket with a tiny smirk of your own. 

Wrench gives you another fetching tilde-caret wink and with that same finger he’d had up your ass flips your phone-camera the bird. You glare lovingly and snap a couple pictures, ignoring the red bands around your wrists from the SFPD-issued handcuffs. 

As you leave, Wrench says, with all the confidence of a man who's got his girlfriend wrapped around said finger, “Door code is 1717! Keys are under the toaster oven. Love yoooo!”

You don’t get far, but both of you knew you wouldn’t. Hell, Wrench doesn’t even let the roll down door shut all the way before he’s up with his jeans pressed in a crumpled mess between his legs, hand on the bottom rubber stripping and manually lifts it up over his head. The cops are probably still combing the streets, and the bright Rat Fink shirt with your red chucks are pretty noticeable even in the dark.

Feigning anger you don't feel, you let Wrench think he's actually pissed you off as he drives you all the way back to HQ. It's kinda worth it to watch him out your peripherals while he keeps throwing you masked looks with varying emotes of confusion, love, and concern. 

“... so, are we straight?”

It's with both a feeling of guilt for having held onto your grudge for so long and relief that Wrench knew how to give you the space you needed to come to your senses, that you nod as he pulls up across from Gary’s Game and Glory. He’d been a dick, doing something you were explicitly not cool with and vocal about as well, but he apologized, and you liked it… unfortunately. 

“Yeah. I'll just blame your hyperactive sex drive and not the adorkable anarchist I fell in love with, sooo… don't worry about it,” you told him, to which Wrench beamed, displaying a mess of hearts and double-carets and wrapped you up in a warm, musky hug that still smelt of engine-oil and sap. 

Forty-eight hours, two and a half beers and a quarter joint later, you're hugging the width of Wrench’s chest on the back of a stolen dirt bike; fingers threaded under his ribs. 

Wrench, being the sober one for once, said he had some plans for you that he wanted to use an actual bed for and not some shabby mattress on the garage floor. And as hot as fucking on the busted Charger was, it'd be nice to have sex without being sore the next day. 

The newly installed DedSec house, situated across from Stanford University in the Valley, sounded perfect. 

According to Marcus and Wrench, only two members were holding down the fort and being a four-bedroom bungalow, seemed the perfect victim for a private room to fuck and sleep in when the couch just wouldn't cut it. The whole idea made you feel sneaky and rebellious, which didn't seem possible compared to all the other crazy shit you've done this far. There was a nostalgic element of doing something you weren't supposed to do, back when you'd been a teenager and wanted to sneak off to hang out with the older kids after hours. 

The house is… not subtle. There's so much crap and weird hipster shit clogging the front porch that it's no wonder who it belongs to. Then again, this is Silicon Valley and being one of the college neighborhoods, doesn't stand out too much from a few other homes along the street.

The hacker flag covering up one of the windows seems a bit ballsy, but Wrench kills the engine and bumps his butt into your open thighs, making you forget about being judgmental. 

The reek of weed is prevalent even from outside.

The second time Wrench sticks his finger up your ass, it's actually two, and it's in a decorated room with the fresh smell of spray paint hanging in the air. He’d taken a half empty can of black paint and, starting from the side trim, wrote his name and yours in scratchy lines across the door. 

B3ta and Ant_Man - the two resident hackers - are still coughing, trying to take as many bong rips as possible to vent the chemical smell Wrench left behind, but you don't mind the weird buzz the fumes give you… not when Wrench has you pressed into an actual mattress, planting slow moving smooches down the side of your throat while his hands work the buttons open on your skater dress. 

The only light source is the gallon-sized lava lamp in the corner, casting a soft orange glow that makes you feel like you're five years younger, about to lose your virginity or something.

Either by way of the paint fumes wreaking havoc on your sense of time or Wrench being quick to get you naked and sopping wet, you blink blearily and fist the sheets beside your head. 

“How did this happen?” You ask with a groan as Wrench beats the underside of his cock over your clit, looking down with raised eyebrows and moist, parted lips.

“The awe-some stoned sex we’re about to have or life as we know it?”

“Well,” a noise like shuffling feet in the hallway makes you pause, blinking rapidly, “obviously I'm talking about existentialism… but… sex, yeah? What about the two dudes that are totally not listening outside the door?”

“Definitely not at half-mast, wishing they were doing this,” Wrench gives you an orange-lighted wink and rubs his cock piercing over your clit, watching the way you tense with a dark look of gratification. He sees something in your face and pauses, “... as much as I'm gonna enjoy rubbing it in those script kiddies faces, you deserve some privacy… do you wanna stop?”

“Don't even joke,” you laugh, but check the corners for what feels like the tenth time for hidden cameras, glaring at the suspicious fake cactus and stolen Mexican food mascot by the locked door. 

Wrench grins, eyes keen on the nub of swollen nerves that were jolting happily under the tap’tap’slap of the metal bit threaded through his cock. 

“Told you, LowRes... already disabled the webcam. No one's gonna see the incredibly mind numbing, high-profile, alpha prime that is you, in such a compromising position with yours truly.”

You blush, thankful it's hidden by the moody, warm lighting as his cock slaps softly. He hums the theme music to the Bond flicks, swirls the head of his dick back and forth with firm pressure and - with a deep groan - presses his cock down and slides it inside your cunt.

Never gets old, you think, sighing happily with your arms raised above your head, searching for the plush pillow with your fingers. 

“Oh,” you sigh, “that feels soooo good.”

With his warm palms on your hips, holding you close, Wrench mimics your exhale, “... so fucking good.”

After a few minutes of languorous, noisy fucking on a bed with rusty springs, you lift your knees and let Wrench guide your ankles over his shoulders until the gentle sex runs deeper. 

“So,” Wrench begins a casual conversation as he finds a smooth rhythm, clutching your legs against his bare chest with one hand bracing on the bed beside your head, “you liked the butt stuff last time? - didn't you?” 

His pinched look of pleasure grows cheeky as you whimper. 

Really? Right now? - he just had to bring it up now? Raising a brow, you glare with pursed lips and a rashy blush, trying to focus on his dick and not the question posed. You fail as he stares hopefully down at you. 

“No,” you lie, feeling your insides flutter at the fresh memory of that tight stretch and raw glide of his knuckle. 

Wrench leans in, nearly bumping your noses and stares with a dangerous passion that causes your insides to swell. His hips finally go flush against your inner thighs, and it's there, so deep and girthy and hot when he says, “Going to be totally honest here, Low… I've wanted to fuck you in the ass since Sitara let you borrow her jeans, like… how could I not when you were talking all that crypto shit with those things on?” 

Your face is on fucking fire now - too moved by his confession to remind him it was he that'd spilled gasoline on your pants which lead you to borrow Sitara’s in the first place. 

The husky, unfiltered lull of his voice is enough to make you get a little dizzy, but that… how were you suppose to tell him to hush after that? Between the beers, the drugs and him and his dick and now all this confession bullshit, you're so fucking wooed it's not even funny. 

Slotting his hips between your legs, tapping that bottomed plushness, you gasp and watch the way he stares in nervous adoration and swallows thickly underneath the tattooed ‘A.’

Wrench leans in closer, eyes darting around your face as if looking for something before he lets your legs fall open around his hips so he can hug you close as he fucks you. His dick sinks a quarter inch farther, but it might as well be poking your heart for how good everything feels. 

“I've been yanking Wrench Jr. Jr. to you since zero day and that day you were laughing with that guy… I knew I loved you and-”

Enough talking, you think, feeling your heart pounding so hard it's making you sick. You tug Wrench's face down with your fingers tangled in his hair and glide your tongue along his lower lip, moaning tenderly for him to open up. Wrench sinks into the kiss, making a hitched sound that plucks at that imaginary string between your throat and groin. 

“...ah’haaa’shit,” he sighs when you break the kiss to breathe. 

There's a spot he keeps hitting that’s either from the bed angling him so well or the emotional atmosphere surrounding you both.

Looking like the pleasure hurts, Wrench pants, eyes closed, and licks his lips. 

“... fuck,” he whispers, “that's a… snug fit. Are-are you getting off on this as much as I am? Please, I'm about to go full nuclear.” 

With your teeth shoved down in your lower lip, legs wide open for his thrusts, you nod, “... yeah, keep going, please.”

“Can I?” Wrench asks, sounding so close to coming, “You liked it last time.” 

There's a part of you that doesn't want to, but another part that’s making your stomach quiver just thinking about it and when Wrench swallows loud enough that it pops in your ears and begs ‘... please,’ you nod. 

“A-alright, but I don't wanna turn around.”

“Okay-alright,” he moans quietly; throaty and raw before plucking up one of your legs to fold it across his chest, pinning your knees together until your hips tilt and legs lay to the side. His cock shifts within, position different than any time before it.

Your back pinches a little, but he's still hovering above you, and his cock is still right there where you need it to be. 

“Okay, just lay back and relax…” he goes all quiet like he’s trying to coax a skittish animal out of the walls and fumbles with the hanging back pocket on his jeans. He tugs a travel-sized bottle of lube out, and a look of relief crosses his face. 

“Wow,” you deadpan, letting your arms flop out across the bed, “... ‘rather have it and not need’ and all that, huh?”

Wrench’s slick dick twitches, more noticeable at the twisted angle, and as if forgetting what he was doing when faced with one of his less indulged kinks, rolls his hips to and fro until your eyes flutter and the ball of pleasure grows denser. 

The squirt of lube from the bottle makes you giggle, slightly nervous but mostly excited. Wrench makes an amused sound that's closer to a groan than a chuckle and pats your butt affectionately. 

“Relax…” Wrench whispers; breath straining. 

It's no more than a second of blind searching, smearing the slick lube across your rear and then - you wince - Wrench is slipping his middle finger in, curling up and dragging the rigid line of flesh within until tears gather in your lashes. It's too intense, almost not enjoyable but the burn doesn't last long before Wrench is muttering sappy endearments along your burning cheeks while finger fucking your ass and rolling his hips against the back of your thighs.

“Go slow,” you blurt out as his finger moves back and forth minutely. 

It's better this time, you're as ready as can be and Wrench doesn't stop stretching your cunt with gentle, steady thrusts. He's watching your face for any signs of pain as much as he is his own middle finger. It's still oddly embarrassing, knowing how eager he is to look at you down there - fuck you there, but it's also exciting, just another one of those things that Wrench has pressured you into that you know you’ll be thankful for later. Already your fingers are going white in the sheets; threads widening as you whimper. 

When you cum, it’s with a hand pulling his hips hard and fast into your backside, his hooked nose pressed over your own with two fingers thrusting in your ass and... it's pretty amazing. 

No lie. 

That night rocked your metaphorical world as much as Wrench admitted it did the same and you don't even mind the awkward guys eating cereal on your way through the kitchen in the morning. 

Well, maybe the look B3ta gives you is a bit weird but Wrench ended up flipping the guy's cereal bowl in his face anyway… so there's that. 

Fast forward to six days later and, honestly? - you had sorta forgotten about how giddy the whole butt thing made Wrench, maybe did your best to forget about it because while you liked it, it was still way out of left field for someone like you. Plus, the change of scenery, paint fumes and substances flooding your system that night sorta lowered your inhibitions a bit. Sober you was a little less cool with admitting how much Wrench was right about you enjoying that sort of stuff and sober you didn't like admitting to it either. 

It’s on a lazy code-morning while you’re lounging on the big sofa with Josh - who's compiling a hack under a knit blanket for the hostile takeover of WKZ Super Bowl Sunday - that Wrench drops a shipping box on the floor. It soars right over the couch and lands loudly between you and Josh. Wrench takes great enjoyment if the double-carets are anything to go by when you both bolt upright. 

“Holy package, Batman,” you exclaim, hearing Wrench laugh on his short jog around the sofa where he skids to a stop and hops on top of you until his mask spikes are poking into your cheek. If he weren't so heavy, it'd be adorable. 

Wrench wheezes with barely contained glee and your heart flutters. Ugh, scratch that… still cute. Soooo cute. 

“The benefits of online shopping are endless!” Wrench says to your pinched face. 

“Did you know they have mummified phallus' on eBay? - and so may used panties. Don't worry I didn't order any of that vanilla shit. Guess what I got you?!” He asks, displaying exclamation marks as he pushes his fists under the lip of his mask; elbows on either side of your shoulders. 

You mock glare, eyes running from him to the inconspicuous box - a box that Josh is already turning around on the floor with a curious expression. You hope it's not something personal or-

“What's BuyXXXsque.com? It's an online sex store isn't it?” Josh asks, ever deadpan before looking up from the box label to the two of you on the sofa, one spiked-dude looking super happy and you, red as a Coop devil lady. 

“I'm in a fucking nightmare,” you mumble, only for Wrench to pinch you, verbally reminding you that this is actually real and that he has something ‘not inappropriate at all’ to show you and Josh needs to scram or put on his big boy undies. 

Josh refused to leave. So, ten minutes later, you're sitting with Wrench in the bathroom - the box on the toilet like some puzzle box out of a Clive Barker film. You squint at the relatively large shipping box, dangling your legs off the sink, waiting for it to burst forth with blue ether and the souls of Cenobites...

Wrench tugs a switchblade out his back pocket, throws the mask up over his forehead, catching the bleached locks under the leather and commences with the unboxing. 

The bathroom lighting is crap. Only one bulb isn't dead, and it's so dim the place feels like it's illuminated by the moon. The way Wrench adopts a rare look of calm in the inadequate lighting with the mask being up and all, is enough for you to cherish this moment despite the fact that he's about to dig through a big box of… paraphernalia, you guess. Porn stuff. 

“I hope it's a strap on so I can fuck ‘you’ in the ass with it,” you tell him, crossing your arms loosely under your breasts, thinking about the code Josh gets to formulate himself because Wrench has - just hassss - to show you what he bought online. 

“Pfff… that area is no entrada. Exit only, my friend,” he wagged the blade at you, giving you a half-look of his cheeky tongue poking out at you.

“Pretty hypocritical of you,” you say, trying to sound annoyed, but it's hard when he's bare-faced like this and smirking to himself. The flip of his knuckles under thin, vein bulging skin as he brandishes the knife helps finish off most of the negative vibes. 

You watch him cut through the packing tape and imagine what he'd sound like getting pegged, “What about I stick a finger up there next time you let your guard down? Ya know, wiggle one in while your dicks in my mouth? I'll call it ‘pulling a Wrench’ sounds about right.”

“It sounds like someone's harboring resentments, I hear that unhealthy. Turns into tumors or butt cancer,” Wrench informs you, tearing up the cardboard folds. Bubble wrap flies over the edges, revealing a bunch of colorful packaging and… a fucking menagerie of sex toys. 

“Oh. My. God,” you mutter in disbelief, “are those bow tie cock rings?”

“Yup, I thought we’d slingshot these babies from that scenic spot by the pier.” 

He mimics snapping one into your face, smirking boyishly, “ten points for anyone making faces at the seals and twenty points for kids with ice cream cones.”

“What about fluffy guys with hot dogs?”

“Easy target, but I'll tell you what,” Wrench rearranges some stuff around and pulls out a gaudy looking rectangular box, “figure which one of these you wanna try out and I'll let you make the score cards.”

You take the box, squint in the watery light and frown, “Seriously? 'Anal Explorers… the all silicone anal kit with progressive sizes that-” you send him a hot look only to get a wink in return, “Dude, is this whole box filled with anal toys? Just… use your fingers or something.”

“You don't want to get banged by,” he does a drum roll and out from the box he produces another set of metallic butt plugs like it's something holy ascending from the depths to the heavens, "Robocop’s weiner?!"

The ceremonious humming really sells it, but you're blushing again and less excited about having foreign objects shoved up your ass than Wrench's big dick. 

Plenty of people have gone from nothing to straight anal before… surely, you don't need all this stuff just so Wrench can-

“Hang on, what's that?” You ask, pointing to a string of… “are those anal beads? Wait, is this whole fucking box full of anal everything?!”

“Noooo… there's power lube and bondage tape too. I also ordered something called a rabbit, but it's definitely not of the fluffy variety.”

You blink watching the box like a maw of sharp teeth and slowly inch your way off the sink lest it gobbles you up. Okay, you think, this isn't crazy - this is… fine. You’re just gonna walk away slowly, yes… grab the door handle. Yes. There it is… and you're gonna…

“Are you trying to escape?” Wrench asks, holding up a large rubber dildo and a fist full of cock rings.

“What? No,” you say, fingers on the door handle. 

Wrench looks from you to your hand on the exit, then back up to your scrunched face and smiles diabolically, “Wanna test ‘em out? I'll turn the shower on. In the bathroom,” he says dramatically, “no one can hear you scream.”

“Wrench,” you begin, letting go of the door handle despite the way he wiggles the floppy dildo in his hand, making a weird rubber click resound in the tiny tile bathroom, “put all that stuff away, let's just… tomorrow night we’ll go back to the house in the Valley, and you can bring your little box of horrors with you, and we’ll go from there, okay? I've got code to compile, and this is-”

“Overwhelming. Unprovoked. Desperado-style, focus on the desperate,” Wrench remarks, itching at his chin with a shoulder shrug, looking mournfully at the box. 

“Yeah, you're right," he agrees, "I'm sorry for smothering you in dick-shaped weaponry. Come to think of it, I could have just printed something…”

An image of Marcus trying to print a drone only to hit the repeat button and get a tiny dildo for his trouble makes you giggle. “Imagine the look on Marcus’ face when a rubber dildo plops out.”

“Pffff! Oh my god,” Wrench beams, tossing his sex paraphernalia into the box so he can embrace you like this is an intimate conversation and not pure sabotage. Although the differences are mute when it comes to Wrench - the both sorta go hand in hand, you’ve come to realize and are totally okay with at this point.

“Yes!” he continues, rubbing your arms like it’s the middle of winter and you're close to hypothermia, “...especially if it's a black one. He’ll think someone’s trying to tell him something. Or we can make it purple?! Sitara would freak!”

After a five minute hug that leads to some more scheming and making out and maybe a bit of mild petting after he gets you back up on the bathroom sink, you get Wrench to fold up his Clive Barker box and enter the real world again. By the time he kicks on some thrash and gets to working on the car bomb Marcus needed for the Super Bowl, you feel mentally drained to the point that, try as you might not too, end up passing out over the sofa cushions. 

When you wake up, bleary eyed and stiff, Josh is uploading the code to a group of USBs, and it’s past prime time.

“So much for pulling my weight,” you sigh through a sleep-clogged throat, to which Josh perks up, throws you a tender smile and hands you a still electric-warm data drive.

“If I give you one at least I know someone will have it come Sunday,” he says, twisting back around to his laptop. 

Josh knows you’re the only one who won’t lose it, but right now you feel a bit out of sorts. The prospect of Super Bowl Sunday and what Wrench wants to do to you the night prior is starting to make you feel a little overwhelmed. Sleep will solve that, you think, kicking your converses off with a rubber heel and then your socked-toes. Some more sleep will put everything in perspective and sure enough - as you sleep - perspective comes like a brick house slap to the face.

The night goes by like a blur, full of barbecue take out and testosterone filled arguments. The Wrench is blameless for a change, too busy letting you tweeze out sharp metal shavings from his knuckles while kicking back a few beers, to get involved in the threesome behind the couch. Horatio, Marcus and Ray all up in arms about who has the better vantage come Sunday. 

Is it Horatio with legit access thanks to the Nudle sponsored t-shirt stall? Marcus and all his ‘undercover’ smarts or Ray? - who claims he can do it all remotely. 

‘Easy fucking peezy!’

WKZTV echoes on four out of twelves screens, but you're more focused on the subtitled Korean horror flick to bother with the latest corporate bullshit to hit the fan before the biggest televised event of the year. 

Wrench sighs dreamily, thumbing up the bottom of his mask to polish off his fourth beer before shoving the empty bottle between the couch cushions. He drops his head on your shoulder, readjusts to keep the spikes out of your skin and reaches a hand over his head to ruffle your hair. 

“What would I do without you?” Wrench asks, sounding drunk and tired and happy despite how fucked his hands are after that circuit board shattered in his hands. 'Overclocking has its limits,' you'd told him, minutes before the mini-city scape burst into tiny, itty-bitty pieces. 

You ease another long sliver out of his pointer finger and smile, “You'd have robot hands by now - what with all this tech stuck in them. I to-”

“Yeah, yeah, you told me. What can I say - I’m a rebel without a cause,” he waves that hand that'd be messing your hair across the space in front of you both, voice dipping dramatically, “Call me James Dean: Pussy Destroyer.”

“Alright, Pussy Destroyer,” you mock, running the edges of your tweezers down his knuckles for any missing bits, “did I miss any shrapnel?”

He blinks double-x’s and then twin carets as he squeezes his red-raw hand into a fist. Little pinpricks of blood paint his bruised skin, leaving angry raised blotches and some sparkling bruises where the bigger chunks were. You'll never admit to it because the wounds must hurt, but there's something super hot about Wrench's hands... especially fucked up like they are now.

“I think he’ll see another pussy yet!” Wrench beams, shifting closer with a purr before laying his other hand in your lap. One down, one to go, you think, feeling a little flustered by taking care of him like this.

You've patched him up before. Wrench was never without bruises or scrapes, but you usually found out after they were beyond a good alcohol swab and bandage. He shook off hits like an actual masked crusader, but when you got ahold of him before the scabs set in, there was something special about cleaning him up this way. 

The evening ends with Wrench’s hands, covered in fabric bandages, wrapped around your waist, spooning you from the inner sanctum of the couch. The arguments from the three dudes in the back blend in with the news coming from the TVs; filtering out most of the unpleasant tones and leaving behind white noise. 

You drift off to the electronic rattle from Wrench’s mask and the safe warmth at your back. 

Saturday comes and goes and by around six in the evening Wrench is hovering. 

You noticed him rolling joints, hanging out in the bathroom for longer than necessary, and stashing a bunch of beers and goodies in a canvas backpack about an hour ago; preparing. According to Josh, he'd already dropped off the box yesterday while you'd been napping so… this is it you think, as Wrench does another not-so-subtle walk through. 

When he finally sinks down in the chair to your right, you know what's coming. 

“Sooooooooo…” he sings and with a flip, you close your laptop, sending him a cursory glance. 

“Yes, you can kidnap me. Do your worst.”

It was supposed to be funny. You were trying to mask your nerves with off-tuned humor that was coming through as barely sarcastic, and Wrench gives you sad slashes in return. Shit, you think. 

“If you changed your mind-” 

“No, I-I'm just… nervous…” you admit, feeling your face grow warm when Wrench’s mask shifts, displaying double zeros as he leans in real close; close enough you can smell the old spice body soap he'd scrubbed himself in earlier. 

“Did you do that thing you wanted to-”

Before he can say the words ‘douche’ out loud in a less obnoxious context, you smack the printed skull on his chest and grab his neck just hard enough to shut him up. His mask blinks exclamation marks and the spiked leather around his jaw stretching almost obscenely.

“Hush!” You whisper, feeling him gulp behind your palm as his display emotes stars while your hearts races. Sitara passes by the conference table - making curious eye contact - on her way to the communal fridge. Wrench makes a very distinct male groan and, with an oh-face exhale, you flick your gaze down into Wrench’s lap. Sure enough, he’s already got a semi. 

Pulling your palm off the inked anarchist-A, you chuckle, blushing, “Sorry, but shut your fucking mouth… and yes, I did.”

“So, you ready to blow this popsicle stand then, my saucy succubus?” Wrench asks, giving you hearts and question marks and throws right tilting LED brackets at the stairwell.

Taking a steadying breath, you seal your fate and nod, thinking the worst and hoping for the best as you follow Wrench on bent knees with that huge backpack slung over his shoulders. 

You both sneak up the stairs and out through a packed Gary’s Game and Glory as if you’re both a couple midnight burglars. A few people giggle, watching you two acting out the classic sneak-scene from Scooby Doo, but Wrench just shushes everyone, elbows the door open and mimes you ahead. It’s fun and campy, and once you’re both out in the night air, it’s just seconds of double-carets and smirks before you’re both dashing down the back alley to the empty parking lot. 

The van keys are in the ignition, much to Wrench’s double-zero’ed amusement, so you bump him out of the way with your hip and hop into the driver’s seat, cranking the engine. Wrench throws himself in the passenger seat, tossing the black hole-heavy pack down by his chucks and takes it upon himself to hook up some tunes, blasting something high octane and messy and perfect as he finger guns speeding road ahead.

The third time Wrench sticks a finger up your ass, he takes it’s virginity.

The two hackers from last week are now three - joined by a cute chubby redhead - but you barely have enough time to give them all a wave hello before Wrench is dashing past you, barely enough sense left to grab your wrist and hightail the both of you to your marked room in the back of the house. Who the fuck knows what they're left to think, but it's hard to give a shit.

A chorus of chuckles, marked with a displeased groan, filters in down the hallway until Wrench slams the spray-painted door shut and throws the lock in place. The room is just as you left it, even the sheets are still tangled in a weird rope, lying halfway on the floor from when you’d accidentally kicked Wrench off the bed in your sleep. 

The orange-tinted lava lamp is still on and going strong, and the old tang of paint fumes still lingers… but now the room smells of sex and musk and something so comforting it makes you wanna just lock the both of you in here for a solid month and… fuck for sure, play games, talk… remote hack the city, maybe.

Through the door, you can hear the new DedSec girl making fun of B3ta. You imagine the long-faced hacker's got a shitty look on his face now that Wrench is back. Probably still butt hurt from when Wrench tossed soggy fruit loops in his face for being a snark. Speaking of butt hurt, you think, turning around to find Wrench bent over the backpack denting the floor.

“What do you even have in there? Thor’s hammer? - anti-matter… or is it like, a gallon of lube? I hope it's lube.”

“What? No, luckily I had the forethought to bring over the ’necessary,'” his mask flashes quotey signs, “supplies yesterday while my precious pumpkin was getting her beauty rest.”

“So?” You peer over his shoulder, watching him unload a zoo of stuff, not least of which is a six pack of beer, a mason jar of skittle moonshine - the stuff Sitara bought for herself - and a snake line of condoms with little radioactive skulls printed on them.

“Are those glow in the dark condoms?”

Wrench blinks double-x’s before his display flashes underscores, and in a very unconvincing tone, he utters, “... nooooo?” 

You laugh. Wrench laughs and contrary to what you might have thought, tonight is the opposite of awkward. It helps that Wrench doesn’t just drop trow and ask you to bend over - no, he can tell you're nervous, so he does what he always does in these situations. 

He distracts you.

Wrench even makes the bed up before gallantly offering you the choicest position with wiggling spirit fingers. You accept, falling down on the squeaky mattress with a huff while he opens up his laptop, lays it on a folding chair covered in stickers, and throws on some Futurama. The hiss of cracked beers makes you smile, feeling pampered beyond measure when he hands you a cool one and sits his ass on the floor; back to the bed frame. 

You sip on your beer, watching him tug and slide the mask up over his forehead, firing up the joint until the distinct reek of burnt grape-weed fills the room. After a shared joint and half a beer, you roll over on your back and tease his shoulder with the toe of your sock. 

Wrench flops his bleached head back and smiles over at you, hearts in his eyes despite the mask being on top his head, and you don't want to wait anymore. 

The warm headband of your high removes everything outside the room from your senses and then, after he finishes off his beer and crawls over you, everything outside of Wrench ceases to exist. You reach up and lock lips, smirking against his mouth as he follows you eagerly back down into the mattress with a loving exhale. Wrench thumbs your elbow, stroking the soft skin there before tugging you around on your side so he can lay beside you; smacking lips and rubbing heat into your lower back.

Sex with Wrench got even better with time. You realized this awhile ago and are reminded again now as his mouth hangs open, moist with spit as he helps you out of your canvas shorts, looking like he’s already on the edge of blowing a load. His scabbed palm, wrapped in fresh gauze, skates the width of your hip, reaching around to squeeze your ass gently before hooking a thumb in your panties and pulling those down too. The fabric barely gets down your calves before Wrench is planting wet kisses down the delicate skin still dented by your underwear and…

“... fuck,” you sigh, letting your thighs fall open as Wrench licks up the wetness leaking out your cunt with full lazy strokes, “Oh, fuck...”

The pirated show on his laptop ends, darkening the room and eventually leaving nothing but quiet, warm tones and the sound of Wrench’s hungry mouth slurping between your legs. You stretch, cant your hips down until his lips are forced to skim your clit and, with a begging moan, he sucks on the tender nub until your knees start shaking.

“... fuck me,” you breathe, letting your eyes blink close as his tongue swirls and thrums the nerve until the feeling is nearly overwhelming.

It’s clear after a few minutes in of Wrench mouthing and tonguing you into a fever that he wants you to cum hard and cum fast. When Wrench thrusts a finger inside you, adding a second before you can relax around the first, you gasp, loud and maybe high enough for it to travel through the wooden door, down the hall and reach the other hackers ears. Without missing a beat, you roll down on his digits, shuddering soft moans as that familiar pressure starts to build.

He plants a sloppy kiss over your clit and catches his breath, fingers scissoring at an upwards angle until sloppy sounds flood around them. 

When you hear the throaty, husk that is Wrench’s voice say, “... I’m so glad I beat the bologna twice today,” you burst out laughing.

Wrench chuckles, wrangling your thighs as you try to evade him, too busy giggling to sufficiently fight him off. His mouth, open and hot against your cunt, is the only thing that shuts you down, hiccuping a final time before deflating. You finish with your back arched off the mattress, thighs hugging his ears and his name on your lips. 

“Nom’nom’nom,” Wrench jokes against your inner thigh before leaving a slick kiss behind. 

You try to tell him to shut up, but he just pulls himself up and kisses you hard enough that your brain flickers dead for half a second and then some. The taste of beer and yourself and the musky notes of his own spit coupled with the gentle high still blurring your peripherals is incredibly overwhelming.

“Hey,” you whisper, tugging him back by his jawline, watching the display of lava-lamp orange play in his eyes, “... do we really need to use those toys you bought? I think I’m ready for a fucking baseball bat at this point.”

Wrench blinks, gaze running to the abyss where the box is resting on the floor. He worries his lower lip until, with a very un-Wrench-like blush, asks, “Two fingers felt good, right?”

You mimic his blush, “... yeah.”

“Okay. So, imagine that,” Wrench leans on an elbow, lifting his pointer and middle finger in front of you as a reminder, “but like… double and a half, maybe more. Think you can handle that?”

It sounds daunting, sure… but you’ve had enough time to do more Nudle searches than you care to admit - all about how anal sex works and doesn’t work on the TV screen. It’s going to be different, and it might hurt a bit - burn like a long stretch at the end of the day - but if he goes slow, you’ll be alright. The silly kits he bought, or stole more like, were fun to laugh at with him, but you’d much rather take your time adjusting to the feeling with the real thing than work yourself up to his girth via pink rubber looking… rockets.

“If you go slow-”

“Always.” His immediate reassurance makes your heart race. 

“Alright... then I wanna try it sans the silicone rockets,” you tell him, watching the way Wrench’s throat bobs as he nods his chin. The lack of witty comment means the idea sits well with him, maybe too well if the little pinch above his sharp nose is any indication.

“By the way,” he says, tapping his two fingers against your chin, looking grave for a short second before pinching his tongue between his teeth and admitting, “those rubbers totally glow in the dark.”

Of course, you think, screwing your lips to the side, “As long as my butt doesn’t end up looking like a plutonium dump, I’ll allow it.”

“Sweeeet,” he sings, theatrically rolling off the bed to the floor with a mighty thunk and grunt on his quest to finger the tip of the condom snake without taking his right shoe off the edge of the bed. With a cheeky smirk, you bump his ankle and listen to his leg smack the floor. Wrench mumbles adorable curses while he tears a wrapped rubber off the line of a dozen green skulls. While he kicks his chucks off, rolls his shoulders back until the vest slips back and goes to work on the rest of his clothes, you take his cue and throw your shirt on the floor. He’s wiggling his hips out of his jeans when you fling your bra into his bare, marked-up chest, hitting the bone bomb and getting a mock glare in return.

Wrench steps out of his jeans, left in nothing but his white-star boxers and tears the edge of the condom wrapper with his teeth. He’s trying to be sexy and… it’s so working, you realize with a blushing grin. He eyes your naked skin, and makes a huge show of working the only mildly glowing condom over his turgid cock. 

Once he grabs a bottle of lube from the open mouth of the backpack and settles back in between your thighs, you lean up to kiss him softly, trying to capture that contained glow from before. Wrench’s breath leaks out of him on a reedy exhale, tugging your lower lip between his teeth before deepening the liplock. As soon as you feel the warm spongy touch of his tongue, he’s gone, popping the cap on the squeeze bottle with a fetching wink.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” you comment, watching him tip the bottle down between your legs.

“Hasn’t been the first time I’ve heard you say that and I promise you it won’t be the last.”

You hope so, wondering if Wrench’s chaotic nature will ever wane or grow dull and deciding that you don’t care because it’s the Wrench beyond all that which you genuinely love. His sloppy humor and crazed antics, however, are quite choice.

A silky, warming wetness flows over your cunt, down the cleft of your ass and… he’s gonna need to throw this mattress out after tonight because Wrench is very, very liberal with the lube. Good thing too, you realize as he runs the heel of his hand - the one less riddled with shrapnel - down your slit and further until...

“C-careful,” you moan, lifting your thighs up until Wrench has your knees hooked over his elbows, pressing your knees nearly to your tits with one finger edging that bundle of constricted flesh. He teases, strokes and groans before leaning in for another languid kiss. Just as his tongue brushes your own, pressure builds, and you tense, accepting a long finger with a steadfast exhale.

“... I guess,” Wrench grunts against your lips, “it's supposed to be this hot? You might melt the condom…”

You laugh softly, marveling at the way your insides clench and jostle around his finger. The stretch is pleasant, warming and intimate in a way you wouldn’t have thought - never in a million fucking years.

Wrench goes slow, distracting you from a burning second finger with wet kisses and a few muffled curses; trailing his mouth down your jaw, along your neck and - when his tongue rolls and plucks a nipple into his mouth - a third finger goes in embarrassingly easy. You shiver, tense but pleasingly heavy and weak as Wrench tests the ring of tight muscle open with three, thrusting digits. It could be your imagination, but you think you can feel the motion mirrored in your cunt; duller, but there. The little twinges of pleasure that trickle down from his lips around your nipple add to it.

“This…” you sough, curling a hand around the back of his neck - nails in the shorter trim of hair and whimper, “... actually feels… really good.”

Against your left breast, Wrench tears his mouth away, sounding wonderfully breathless, “I’m gonna stick it in.”

Unable to form words, you nod silently, letting out a heavy breath as his fingers slide away. 

It’s not long before Wrench is squeezing more lube over his glowing dick and maneuvering you on your side, bare chest sticking to your back. You count your heartbeats, focusing on every careful breath as Wrench mouths the nape of your neck, lifts your leg over his hip and starts pressing the fat head of his slick cock between your cheeks. 

Wrench whispers your name over your shoulder, a question as much as anything else and without words, because those would just come out a mess, you tilt your hips back and gasp as he starts pressing in. The head's the worst part, you remind yourself, recalling those internet searches and well-worded insights and reassuring forums and… and…

“Haaa…” you exhale, curling your stomach, feeling the raw stretch of tight muscles as Wrench breaks out in a sweat behind you. With one hand on the base of his cock and the other wedged between you and the bed, holding your hip steady, he swallows loudly. Teeth hooked in your shoulder, body a firm line of tension, Wrench makes a fragile… almost silent moan as the thickest part of his cock burns and then immediately slots within, sucking him in a half inch without any effort.

The urge to roll your hips down, taking the rest in all at once, is unnerving but Wrench has his fingers denting in your side, holding you firmly in place as if he knows…

As he sinks deeper, taking a considerable amount of time and effort, you wrack your brain for words to describe how it feels, but everything escapes you - nothing but sensation is left. It’s nice, you think after a solid minute of gradual fullness. There’s no point asking Wrench if it feels good - the way his chest is vibrating against your back, sweat making your skin's slippery, is telling enough. His breath rattles, lips opening against the side of your neck and there, right under your ear, he growls… fucking growls…

That’s it, you whimper and search blindly for his hip, his side - anything. There are only a couple inches left, and with a loud moan, you pull at his waist and press your ass back into him, relishing the choking sound he makes and finally, the heat of his hips pressing into the meat of your backside. 

He’s in… you smile wetly, breathing heavy; heart racing. You lick your lips as Wrench pants against your skin, cupping your stomach as he tips you that little bit deeper until you can feel the thick pulse of trapped blood in his cock. Beneath it all is the pounding of your own heartbeat, wrapped around the girthy intrusion within. There’s no denying it now - you like it. There's something about the way it makes everything ache and flush. Even your elbows are shaking from the intensity of it. 

“How-how does it feel?” Wrench asks, sounding as emotional as the first time he took his mask off in front of you, well… after he’d finished going down on you of course. 

You reach down, hand shaking and rest it over his, tracing the raised scabs over his knuckles as he squeezes the softness of your belly.

“It…” you gasp, feeling your heart racing wildly, “feels like you’re... fuck…” it's hard to get the words out. It feels like you've been running miles and miles in the summer heat.

“I-I like it,” you manage, swallowing your heart back down into your chest. 

“Yup, that,” Wrench pauses to take in a deep breath, sounding just as overwhelmed, “nearly made me cum.” He sighs, sounding so fucking relieved it almost makes the unshed tears in your eyes spill over.

“... thanks, Low,” Wrench groans into your skin, sucking in another steadying breath. 

Your lips twitch up into a smile, patting the back of his hand as he noses the sweaty hairline on the nape of your neck. 

“Anytime," you tell him, a little more composed. It's hard to think about anything else but the heaviness deep inside; nestled behind your bellybutton and at the base of your spine. 

Against your back, Wrench stifles a raw giggle, massaging your lower abdomen and reaches further down to finger your swollen clit. The profound heat and low-key burn in your ass takes on a softer edge as Wrench strokes you; affectionate and firm. The hard bead of nerve bounces under his fingers, igniting a deep well of pressure just beyond your navel and around his cock and then his hips are pulling back, dragging you an inch with him until his cock starts to pull smoothly out. 

“Holy fuck balls,” you curse, gulping down a well of spit and dig your nails into his wrist, fisting the pillow under your head. 

The firm, tight drag of your insides feels like a friction burn, but sweet and ever expanding. An inch out and then an inch back in. Inch out, inch in… back and forth, slow and steady and then his hips begin smacking, making the hairs on your body stand on end, and suddenly everything becomes incredibly overwhelming. Your heart hammers - your breath comes ragged and suddenly your body erupts in waves of scratchy warmth. 

When you come undone, Wrench is just as surprised by the sudden contractions around his dick as you are.

The orgasm that his careful thrusts and rubbing fingers pull out of you literally takes your breath away. When Wrench pauses for a split second as your climax is at its peak - maybe worried or taken off-guard - you whimper and fuck back into him until everything feels like it’s two hundred degrees too hot. Your skin, the air, Wrench and the cock he has lodged up your ass and everything in between, puts you in full on fucking overdrive.

“... fuck me,” you shudder out, slapping an arm back, wrapping it around his neck so you can fist his bleached hair and pull him down for a desperate kiss. You need to taste him - need something in your mouth. Something in your cunt too. You rock back into his hips, mewling loudly and push his hand further down, coaxing his fingers through wet folds until he catches on and shoves two fingers within. 

Wrench groans in his throat, sucking on your tongue as his hips drive back and forth, never pulling more than a few inches away before filling the room with the wet, smacks of flesh on flesh. He fucks you just like you wanted - not too deep and not too hard. It’s careful, considerate and well… maybe it’s deep, but there’s something about the bottomless pit inside you that he just can’t entirely fill, that works. 

His fingers bruise in your hip, fucking your cunt with fast curling digits and... you've never felt so spoiled in your whole life.

There’s no second orgasm before he’s gasping and slipping his mouth back down the side of your face, hiding in the crook of your neck and cumming, but it doesn’t matter. That quivering twitch of his dick inside you is fulfilling enough, and the pleasure goes deeper than surface nerves and rocketing brain chems. Wrench holds you so tightly in his post-orgasmic haze that it brings tears to your eyes, pooling and swelling over the bridge of your nose and down into the pillow as he shivers against your back. 

Emotional isn’t a word you’d have used in conjunction with anal, but it’s some of the most intimate sex you’ve ever had. 

“Don't laugh,” Wrench pants, “but this is... " he stops himself, swallowing back something he thinks is too cliche or fluffy maybe, but ends up whispering, "I love you,” against your neck; stomach still twitching against your back.

With your heart nestled amongst your vocal chords, you breathe those same three words back at him, feeling the weight of them lingering like a dense blanket. There's not enough air to fill your lungs, but you try, swallowing heaving breathes as the sweat on your skin begins to dry. It's a very welcome coincidence when the AC kicks on and the vents throw cool, pot-tinged air down your overheated body. At your back, Wrench sighs under the indoor breeze. 

Feeling sated and safe, you relax into Wrench’s tight hug, feel his limbs tug you closer against the new slack and let your eyes flutter closed. Gradually your heart rate begins to slow and oxygen soaks into your lungs. 

Wrench hums contentedly, nosing your neck and jaw and giving patches of glowing kiss soft kisses when he deems them in need of smooches and it’s pretty wonderful, to say the least. 

There’s a mess to clean up. After all that lube, of course there is, but you don’t wanna move right now…

“I don’t wanna move,” you sigh, “... don’t make me move.”

“Uhh... I don’t wanna move either,” Wrench echoes, still sounding winded but well fucked, “A sodomy demon apocalypse couldn’t move me.”

“Sodomy, huh? That’s pretty fitting… imagine that,” you mumble, feeling weak and tender but wholly satisfied. His dick gradually begins to soften, but it leaves you feeling empty even before Wrench slowly, so… so slowly, pulls himself out of you. The last inch feels awkward - it leaves you feeling loose and stretched and exposed.

You peek over your shoulder to watch Wrench removing the pale green condom. So much for glow in the dark, you think, marveling at the half-flaccid sight of Wrench’s cock and realizing exactly how much girth had been in your ass minutes ago. A lot.

“So,” you begin, feeling like the warm lava-light is cooking your cheeks, “was it what you built it up to be? Did anal live up to the hype?”

Wrench runs a few fingers through his bangs, combing them back over his forehead, taking the mask with him. You watch, gaze hazy, as he lays it on the shelves at the head of the bed frame and turns towards you.

“Obviously, it sucked,” he jokes, rolling over to wrap you back up in a snug-fitting hug, chin on your shoulder. A big, dopey and utterly relaxed smile stretches his face, making him look boyish and carefree. With a smile, you plant a kiss on his cheek and watch out the corner of your eyes as they darken.

After a couple minutes of laying in lube-stained sheets, he pulls your hips flush with him. The soft warmth of his groin against your tender rear brings back a well of emotions, and you lay there, staring into the messy room; heart racing.

“It’s like that time I took all those mushrooms - not the hunt for Waldo part, obviously… but,” Wrench pauses, swallows and runs his thumb along the space between your breasts, “the emotional high - feeling at one with the spinning planet and all its many endless stars and ‘blackholes’ but this was better than that.”

You’re about to find words to counterbalance Wrench’s mushy confession, but he beats you to it. 

"LowRes let me fuck her in the ass. Waaaay better than metaphysical shrooms and I’m pretty sure my dick was bumping your heart at one point, so… like, this was practically murder - the most intimate of gestures!”

It’s jarring and uncomfortable when you laugh, but you do it anyway, rolling too fast and yet not fast enough into his arms so he can snuggle you until you suffocate. Kill me now, you think, planting a raspberry on his chest until the poor hackers outside your room have to wonder what's so fucking funny after the orchestra of fuck-tunes you both no doubt emitted.

If Wrench looks undoubtedly smug, well… that’s alright. You boop his nose and kiss his lips and decide there’s nothing Wrench can’t do that you won’t follow him into. He’s too perfect to say no to, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! This was my first time delving into actual anal sex (I think). So please, if you have the time, let me know what you thought. It helps me a great deal to know what I did well and what needs improvement. To the two Anons, thank you and a big thanks to Darth Fucamus for reading over this for me. <3
> 
> [PILLOWFORT](https://www.pillowfort.io/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [CURIOUS Cat (for asks)](https://curiouscat.me/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/LydiaBrim)   
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